


An Unnecessary Epilogue

by cafecliche



Category: Monster
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-19
Updated: 2009-12-19
Packaged: 2017-10-04 16:12:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cafecliche/pseuds/cafecliche
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That was the first note Runge typed upon becoming a professor: "Children are persistent." It was almost admirable. They had the cleverest ways of bringing a discussion to what they wanted to talk about. And there was usually only one thing they wanted to talk about, which Runge knew from before the first day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Unnecessary Epilogue

That was the first note Runge typed upon becoming a professor: "Children are persistent."

It was almost admirable. They had the cleverest ways of bringing a discussion to what they wanted to talk about. And there was usually only one thing they wanted to talk about, which Runge knew from before the first day. ("I am a student," he'd muttered to himself, only half-wryly, as he glanced at his massive attendance list. "Why am I taking this class?")

"So, in other words," one of the louder students declared, hopeful. "It's like the Johan case, right?"

"Not at all," Runge replied. The students deflated. "Stabbing in itself suggests a crime of passion, and personal involvement." Which couldn't have been further from the Johan case.

"Professor," the second-most pretentious student declared, "this is fine and all, but don't you think we could learn more from a case you were so involved in?"

"Later," Runge said simply. He'd been planning to cover the Johan case later in the year. But it was expected, for students to ignore his tightly-sculpted lesson plan.

"Just tell us a little bit?" another student begged. "Is it true that Johan Liebert is still in a coma?"

And that was the end of their restraint: the classroom erupted with questions, only some followed by raised hands. One girl made herself heard over the din: "What about Dr. Tenma?"

Runge answered before he realized it. "He was cleared of all charges."

"I know that, but..." She fidgeted. "What did he do, after all that?"

Of course. It was an understandable mistake. To them, it wasn't a case. It was no different than those storybooks that had started everything. These children found it natural to worry for the downtrodden protagonist.

It wasn't as if Runge could answer her question. The last time he'd seen the doctor, he'd been a witness, Tenma had been a defendant, and they'd exchanged such trivial words that Runge was surprised he still remembered them. ("Not very strong," Runge had commented, on the coffee. "Not really," Tenma had agreed, shrugging.) As a detective, his job ended there. It would be unprecedented to pick up the phone and call the man he'd tracked for over a year, merely to inquire to his health.

But Runge had been engaging in all sorts of unprecedented behavior lately. He visited the grave of a man he'd known for mere hours. He routinely e-mailed his daughter about things that barely interested him, and wrote about them in detail. And sometimes, he spared a thought towards what Dr. Tenma was doing now.

Perhaps it was something like this.

***

And climates were much like he'd left them before: Yokohama was a little warmer than Munich in February, but Tenma didn't spend the month in either place. Work took him much farther north, far enough to regret resisting everyone's efforts to "fatten him up a little."

He is awake at this ungodly hour after fielding yet another panicked phone call from Dieter, who, through the good graces of science class and medical dramas, now regularly worries about infectious diseases and crazed drug addicts with guns. "Don't laugh!" the boy had snapped after voicing his concerns. Tenma hadn't even been aware that he was laughing out loud.

Wherever he was, none of them paid any particular mind to time difference. Not Nina, filling out her applications for law school. ("I'm not sure about this essay," she'd sigh. "Maybe I should talk about something broader?") Not Eva, who'd perfected the art of asking Dr. Reichwein about her ex-fiance without actually asking.

Definitely not the hoarde of investigative reporters who'd somehow gotten his cell phone number. (And Tenma had a good idea of who'd given that out, too.)

They all waited to hear something interesting from him - not only the reporters, but his new bosses and coworkers. As every commonplace conversation passes, to their visible dismay, Tenma finds a little more to celebrate in being boring.

He checks the little thermometer on the window, as if it will have changed from five minutes ago. But he decides that, no matter how cold it is tomorrow, he'll eat lunch outside, anyway.


End file.
